Missing Ink

by E J Frost

  I nod wearily. The ups and downs of this day are just too much for my raw heart.

  Mac guides me over to the bed he was sitting on and settles me on my back. Tears run hot down my temples and I don’t even try to wipe them away.

  I hear Mac thank Dana and ask Logan if he can have the room for a couple of hours. While I lie there like the world’s saddest sap and sniffle.

  Emily leans over me and kisses me on the cheek. “I love you, Bren. It’s okay to be sad over your collar but it’s going to be okay.”

  I sniff. “When did ‘I love you’ become a thing between us? I hate it.”

  She wipes my cheeks. “I know. I still love you and it’s still going to be okay. See you at dinner.”

  I nod bleakly, staring up at the bed’s blue canopy.

  Mac replaces Emily at my side as Logan herds her and the two other couples out of the room. I feel a twinge of guilt at spoiling whatever scene they were planning. The club’s busy today so they might have trouble getting another room, even though the house subs tend to treat Logan like a rock star and give him anything he asks for.

  “Maybe we should give them the room, Sir,” I whisper. “Club’s pretty busy.”

  “They’ll find somewhere,” Mac responds from where he’s rummaging in his toy bag. “This is more important.”

  That he thinks so makes the tears run faster. The bed dips as Mac stretches out beside me and rolls me into his arms. He kisses the tear-tracks and strokes my cheek with his thumb.

  “This is temporary, sweetheart,” he says gently. “I’ve ordered you a collar but it’s still being engraved and won’t be here until Tuesday. So, all I have is this one, but will you accept it from me?”

  He holds up a plain, black leather collar with a silver O ring in the middle.

  My breath catches in my chest. “You’re offering me your collar, Sir?”

  “I am, my girl. I know this isn’t going slow, but I don’t have any doubts, Bren. If you have doubts, will you share them with me now so we can talk them through?”

  I rub my lips together as I stare up into those warm, summer-sky eyes. If I say nothing, he’ll collar me and that’s what I want but I also want it to be for real and not something temporary that he takes off after a couple of months when he’s had enough of me. Accepting his collar when I’m still shaky is wrong—it’s not being honest with my Sir.

  “There’s the age thing,” I say, because Ten resurrected that nasty niggle.

  “You seem to be keeping up with me just fine, girl.” He grins at me and I feel the corners of my lips lift in answer.

  “You do have a lot of energy for a geezer, Sir. Seriously, it’s more that you’ve had your family and, I don’t know, someday I might want a kid.”

  “I’m not opposed to a second family, girl. I love kids. I’m looking forward to playing granddad to Logan’s little one when she arrives. We’re getting way ahead of ourselves, but this is not an obstacle. Next?”

  “My juvie record,” I whisper.

  “Not something I care about, girl.”

  “But those bikers wouldn’t let you join because of me. I know you wanted to.”

  “I want to belong to a brotherhood, but not that one. While you were sleeping off the scene yesterday, Napa invited me to meet his brothers. They want us to stop for a barbeque on our way back from Poughkeepsie on Sunday night. If that goes well, I’ll do some rides with them and see if they’re a better fit.”

  “What if they’re unhappy with my record?”

  “They already know about it and don’t care. No one but a bunch of ex-cops with their thumbs up their asses would, Bren.”

  I let that sink in. “I’ve felt bad about it, Sir.”

  “Stop feeling bad. I feel like a dodged a bullet there. Napa was telling me they kicked Wreck out after he got a DUI conviction. Instead of getting their brother help and keeping their arms around his shoulders while he got sober, they left him to sink or swim on his own. That’s not a brotherhood, Bren. It’s not something I could live with. My days with Rolling Blue would always be numbered because the first time they kicked a brother out for something like that, I’d be out the door with him. Set that aside. Next?”

  Is there anything more? I could say that I’m not sure about us lasting, but he said he doesn’t have any doubts and mine feel insignificant now that we’ve talked about them.

  “I think that’s all I’ve got, Sir.”

  “That’s all you got?”

  “It is, Sir. Would you please collar me?”

  His eyes ignite. “It would be my pleasure.” He reaches out to my side and picks up the long strip of black leather. “Kiss the collar, my snuggleslut, and ask me to put it on you.”

  I press three kisses to the smooth material. “Please, Sir, would you put your collar on me?”

  “Sit up and lift your hair out of the way. I don’t want to catch you.”

  His consideration—the way he always ensures I’m safe and comfortable, even when he’s about to hurt me—makes another tear roll down my cheek. Mac leans in and kisses it away before helping me sit up with a hand between my shoulders.

  The clasp of the cool leather around my throat makes me catch my breath. The constriction increases as Mac works the buckle then loosens and drops to rest against the base of my neck. The panic I felt at handing my club collar to Chess leeches away slowly. I exhale and feel everything settle.

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  Mac tips my chin up and gives me a deep kiss. “You’re welcome, sweetheart. I’ve collared you today because you needed it, but if you want a formal ceremony like Emily’s when I give you the collar I’ve had made for you—”

  I shake my head. I’ve had ceremonies. They didn’t sprinkle any magic dust over the relationships. “I’d rather it was just you and me.”

  He smiles. “I’m not one for big productions, either. You realize, of course, that I’m going to have to claim your holes again.”

  “What? Wait, Sir, I’m barely recovered from the last time!”

  Mac chuckles as he strips my robe off.

  *****

  Mac doesn’t quite break my pussy during what he laughingly calls his “second claiming,” but I’m decidedly sore as we head back to my apartment. I’ve agreed, a little grudgingly, to spend the night at Logan’s, but I need a change of clothes and some supplies. Mac’s planning to watch a game tonight with Logan and he promised I could use the time to sketch. I’m holding him to that so I’m not stressing about the designs I’m working on over the weekend. Being with Mac has been so much fun that it’s tempting to just blow off work until our mini holiday comes to an end, but I know I’ll be a ball of nervous knots come Monday if I do that. I’ll give Mac control over everything except when it comes to my business. I need to keep a handle on things there and not let the distraction of my new relationship derail me.

  When we reach my shop, Jules, the piercer, is behind the desk finishing up a sale of body jewelry to a goth-looking couple. The high buzz of the gun is coming from Nicky’s cubby, but Fareena’s area is silent.

  “Hey, Jules. Everything good?”

  She looks up at me while she waits for the couples’ credit card to process and rolls her eyes. “Fareena had to bolt. Her kid’s sick.”

  I let out a breath and scratch the back of my neck. “Can you stay until close?”

  “Yeah, no problem. Nicky already asked me.”

  Thank the Benevolence I have two super-competent staff. I wave my thanks to her as I lead Mac back towards the stairs up to my apartment. He slides his arm across my shoulders. “Problem, sweetheart?”

  “Yeah, Reena’s struggling with her childcare. I’m trying to be understanding, but she needs to sort it out. I made a rule about having two people in the shop at all times and she keeps leaving me short.”

  Mac chuckles and squeezes my shoulders. “Maybe once Logan’s kid arrives, I should start a day-care.”

  “Master Mac’s day-care?” I can’t control a gig
gle.

  “Those would be the best-behaved kids in the country.”

  “I don’t doubt it, Sir.”

  Mac’s surprisingly helpful when it comes to packing and in less than ten minutes, we’ve each got a bag of clean clothes, my sketching supplies, his books, and a carrier of groceries out of my fridge that Mac says will spoil if they’re not used in the next day. It’s not that I don’t believe him; it’s just that tortilla chips don’t spoil that fast. I suspect there’s an ulterior motive to Mac packing them that has nothing to do with spoilage and everything to do with Emily’s super-healthy menu.

  “Emily is not going to let you make nachos, Sir,” I say as I lock my apartment door.

  “Ah, I have a plan.” In the dim emergency light of the hall stairs, he looks so devious. And so fucking handsome. “You’re going to distract Em while Logan and I make the world’s fastest nachos. She won’t take them away once we’re eating.”

  “That’s super-sneaky, Sir. What if I refuse to assist this subversion of Logan’s cholesterol reduction?”

  Mac chuckles. “Depends on whether or not you want another orgasm tonight.”

  Damn, evil Dom. I mean, I’m sore but I’m not that sore.

  “I could need Em to sit for me while I sketch. Upstairs in her little room so she doesn’t smell what you guys are getting up to in the kitchen.”

  “That sounds like a plan, girl.”

  That is the plan. And Emily’s a sweetheart as she sits still on the day bed in her little room, cuddled in the embrace of her massive teddy bear while she holds one of her dinosaurs in her lap and I sketch the three of them, without a single complaint, even when the smell of melted cheese drifts up the stairs. She’s such a perfect model that I feel bad about the ruse and release her as soon as I’m sure they’ve had enough time to start eating.

  As I trail her down the stairs, I crack. What happened to shiny Brenna? Mac’s making me into melted chocolate Brenna, I swear.

  “Em, I didn’t really need to sketch you. Mac wanted to make nachos.”

  She giggles. “I know. I looked in the bag when he brought it into the kitchen. Daddy likes to feel he’s getting away with sneaking food that’s bad for him and as long as it’s just a treat, that’s okay. His cholesterol level isn’t that high.”

  “You knew? You-you—”

  “Rascal?” Emily supplies.

  “Definitely. I did get a nice sketch of your face, though. Mind if I use it in a tattoo?”

  “Go ahead. I like the idea of being on someone’s skin. It’s kind of an ephemeral permanence, isn’t it?”

  Only Emily would call a tattoo an “ephemeral permanence,” but I get what she means.

  She pauses at the bottom of the stairs and looks up at me. “Bren, Daddy said Master Ten was really mean to you when you resigned, and you looked so upset when you came in afterwards. Are you really okay?”

  I curl my fingers at her and when she comes to me, I give her a big hug. “You’re a sweetie, you know that?”

  She blushes as she returns the hug.

  “I really am okay. Ten can be an asshole when he tries, and he was trying hard today.” I still haven’t told Mac about Ten’s tantrum. I was so overwhelmed by the loss of my club collar and Mac offering me his it slipped my mind. But it’s something I will tell Mac, because Ten really did scare me and I want Mac to understand if I avoid Ten for a while. “How did your daddy hear about it?”

  I can’t see Ten calling Logan for moral support.

  “Master Chess called him.”

  That figures. I wonder if Chess heard us. If so, he didn’t do anything about it, even after Ten ignored my safe word. Sourness twists briefly in my belly but I shake it off. Nothing truly bad happened.

  “It just makes me more certain of my decision,” I tell her as we start walking towards the great room again.

  “And that’s Master Mac’s collar now?” She nods at my neck.

  I brush my fingertips over it fondly. “It is. This is a temporary one. He’s having one engraved for me. Wonder what it’s going to say?” I waggle my eyebrows at her.

  She giggles. “Something dirty.”

  “Definitely something dirty.”

  The smell of cheese and hot corn chips envelops me as Emily opens the door. I hope Mac made plenty because now my stomach is reminding me how long ago lunch was.

  When we walk into the great room, Logan hunches over the huge tray of nachos on the coffee table like he can somehow hide them, which even his big body can’t accomplish. His pathetic furtiveness sets Emily off giggling and I have to bite my lips to keep from joining her.

  “We used the low-fat cheese, so these are healthy-ish,” Logan says when Emily stops behind the couch and plants her hands on her hips in mock outrage.

  “Sure, Daddy. They look really . . . healthy. Quinoa for dinner, then?”

  The men—Logan, Mac, Max, and Warrin—groan collectively, while giggles ring out from the dining room where Max and Warrin’s littles are playing a board game spread out on the dining room table.

  After teasing our Doms, Emily and I join the two littles, Cynnie and Aggie. They’re playing Candyland, which I haven’t seen since Mother Kay’s. The game’s fun, if silly, and brings back bitter-sweet memories of my foster family.

  Once we lose to Cynnie, who looks so innocent but is a total Candyland shark, Emily drags me into the kitchen to help her make healthy snacks while Cynnie and Aggie pack up the game. As I’m cutting up carrots, I glance around, seeing the smiles on everyone’s faces, even Warrin’s whose team is losing, hearing the low buzz of conversation between people who know each other on a lot of levels, smelling the good smells of fresh vegetables and whatever Emily’s got roasting in the oven, which smells much better than quinoa.

  It looks, sounds, and smells like a family.

  *****

  The call I get from Nicky as we’re cleaning up dinner—a huge turkey roast with lots of trimmings and not a single quinoa in sight—destroys all my happy feels and sends me tumbling to the bottom of the hill again.

  “Bren, the design book’s missing.”

  “Missing?” How can something that big go missing? It’s tabloid sized, eleven by seventeen, and thicker than a freaking dictionary. “You’ve checked everywhere? Under the couches? In the tattooing stations? Behind the desk?”

  “Everywhere,” Nicky confirms. “It’s like it just vanished.”

  “God-DAMN.” I grip my forehead with my free hand. This can’t be happening.

  “Okay, look, I told the guy I didn’t have any slots open until tomorrow afternoon. Can you redraw it by then?”

  “Yeah,” I mutter. I can re-draw one design, but that book was five years of work. Five years .

  “Good. Just send it to the thermal fax and I’ll pick it up. I’m happy to lay the ink. I just need the line work and the shading. You know I don’t do portraits like you do.”

  “Yeah,” I repeat. “I’ll figure something out.”

  “Sorry to bust up your time off.”

  “No problem.” It’s a huge problem. “I’ll see you later.”

  Nicky hangs up and I sag against the kitchen counter, staring at my phone’s screen like it holds all the answers.

  “Brenna,” Mac says softly. “Come here.”

  I put up a hand. “Not right now.”

  “What did you just say to me?”

  I look up, exasperated. Can’t he see this is a bad time?

  He’s still sitting at the table, but he’s turned his chair so he’s facing me, knees spread, one hand pointing at the floor between his feet. There are four other people in the room, but everything narrows down to just Mac. He’s all I see, all I hear, when he uses his fucking Dom voice on me.

  “Sir.” I use his title so I’m not showing him disrespect, just trying to tell him this is a line he doesn’t want to cross. This is my business. He doesn’t get to interfere with my business. “There’s a big problem—"

  “There’s nothing wro
ng with my ears, girl. I heard. Then I gave you an order. Unless there’s a problem with your ears, you chose not to obey—”

  “This is different,” I flare at him. “This is my job.”

  “Get on your knees, on the floor, right now,” he growls.

  Fuck, really? How can it be than in less than twenty-four hours I’ve had two of my Doms ordering me to my knees when everything inside me screams not to?

  I struggle for a long moment, then throw myself across the room. He’s not Ten. He’s my Sir. And I want to please him, although less in this moment than I have since we met. Fuck him for screwing with my business.

  I kneel, shuddering. “Fuck you, Sir,” I hiss under my breath. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.”

  “Get it out, girl,” Mac says before reaching forward and stroking my bent head. “Get it all out. You hate me, right?”

  At the moment, I almost do. I don’t say it, because when I do, it’s a joke. This isn’t a joke. This is so unfunny it isn’t true.

  “Anything else?” he asks.

  “No,” I growl.

  “Uh-huh. Look at me, bold girl.”

  I lift my eyes and meet his. The icy flare of anger has faded to warmth. I swallow and feel the rising panic wash out of me. Under those intense blue eyes, I settle, like a pond as the ripples of a stone’s throw fade. My shoulders drop as the tension washes out of my muscles. The pounding in my ears fades. Mac slips his hand under my chin and holds my eyes.

  “That’s better, isn’t it?”

  I nod reluctantly.

  “Tell me what’s happened.”

  “A client came in wanting a portrait. Nicky went to pull the design out of my sketch book but the book’s gone. He can’t find it anywhere.” I bite my lip as a surge of panic swells up from my belly again. “And you’re going to tell me it’s my own fault for the shop security not being tight enough.”

  “No, I’m not. I’d never throw something like that in your face when you’re in the middle of a crisis, girl, and I’m disappointed you’d think I would.”

  My chin quivers against his palm. Fuck it, I’m not going to cry over this.

  “Sorry, Sir.”

  “First we’re going to get you back in control. Second, we’re going to deal with this design so Nicky can do the tattoo. Then we’re going to address your punishment. Any questions?”